


Satisfaction is delayed (come and get off)

by sincerely_inge



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prison, Emotional Manipulation, Film Maker Harry, Harley Quinn/The Joker AU nobody asked for, Harry is making a documentary on convicted murderers, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, Louis is a prisoner, M/M, Mentions of Murder, Mild Sexual Content, Non-Famous Louis, Oh My God, Sexual Tension, What Have I Done, and a bit of a sociopath, he's innocent but Louis kinda corrupts him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-23
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2019-06-30 05:25:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15745167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sincerely_inge/pseuds/sincerely_inge
Summary: Or, The Joker x Harley Quinn AU nobody asked for.Title from the song Insane by Korn.





	Satisfaction is delayed (come and get off)

**Author's Note:**

> So this is more a parody than an actual one-shot, just without any humour in it. It’s a little dubious, all in all—oops.

From the moment Louis Tomlinson walked through the door, into the cinderblock room where Harry Styles would conduct his interview, Harry knew that he was different from the other three inmates he had interviewed previously. 

His eyes were a piercing blue and captivating; like you were looking at a summer sky instead of into the eyes of a convicted mass murderer. Even though he wasn't tall, he managed to be intimidating, the air around him drastically changing the atmosphere in the small room. Harry was taller than him, yet he felt much smaller under his gaze, like a child with an adult in front of him: an experienced adult, someone who had seen the darkest nights and endured the coldest of winters.

Harry couldn't help but think that, perhaps, Louis Tomlinson was the darkest night and the coldest winter.

Before he had been brought into the room, the prison counsellor and the governor had given him a long explanation and clear instructions on how to handle the inmate. Harry had met them before when he was looking for permission to do interviews in Frankland Prison. It was a notorious prison with Category A prisoners, the most dangerous kind that made the hairs on your arms stand up. The counsellor is a tall man with light blond hair and green eyes; the prison governor is a woman with auburn hair down to her shoulders, her eyes brown and her face contorted in a steely gaze.

_Don't make conversation with him. Only ask the questions on your paper. Don't make it more than an interview._

_Don't let him get into your head._

The same warning, over and over again. Don't let him get into your head. 

They had said that Tomlinson was able to manipulate you. He'll talk, make you interested in a way you didn't know interest existed, and suddenly, you'll find yourself in the palm of his hand. You'll find yourself infatuated with him, and he'll have all control over you.

So, it was simple. Don't let him get into your head.

But when Louis Tomlinson walked through the door, into the cinderblock room where Harry Styles would conduct his fourth interview, Harry knew that it would not be simple in the slightest.

Louis Tomlinson was wearing a light grey jumpsuit, his wrists bound with handcuffs and intertwined in front of his waist. He walked in a way that commanded attention and respect, yet there was no noise coming from his footsteps, almost like he was a ghost.

His eyes meet Harry's and something flickers in them. Harry looks away and swallows thickly, intimidated by the new presence in the room, the presence of a prisoner that was so different from the others Harry had interviewed.

He sits down in the plastic chair in the corner of the room, in front of the camera Harry had set up prior to the inmate's arrival. The blue eyes look straight into the camera for a second, and something flickers in them again. 

Harry clears his throat while he takes his place behind the camera, right in front of the chair, so that if Louis would look at him, he would still be looking in the direction of the viewer that would be watching after Harry's documentary was released.

Harry didn't understand why he was so profoundly nervous. When he interviewed the previous three inmates, he hadn't been as nervous: yes, there had been nerves, because in front of him were killers, but nothing as strong as this. 

"Okay, uh, so--"

"Are they staying?" Louis interrupts Harry, his eyes flickering over to the counsellor and the governor on their left, and then to the two guards by the door. His voice is raspy and surprisingly light, an evidence of long-term smoking in his voice. Harry found himself strangely intrigued with the voice, which tone was indescribable: sugar-sweet yet intimidating, almost a child-like tone that made it seem that everyone in the room was too innocent and naive for him. "I'm not talking if they are."

The governor sighs and rubs the spot between her eyebrows with her thumb and forefinger, aggravation towards the inmate clear as day. "Tomlinson, you agreed to an interview with this young man and--"

"I have," Louis interrupts again. "I agreed to talk to him, not you. I won't talk till you leave." He glances at Harry, sizing him with a simple glance, and then back at the other four people in the room. "I won't talk till everyone leaves."

The governor purses her lips and sighs again, glancing at Harry. "Please, Tomlinson, I don't think we want to ruin this young man's film."

"Oh, no, I wouldn't dream of it," Louis says. Even though his face is void of emotion, just like his voice, Harry can't help but think he's amused. "But I agreed to him, not to you. You staying here would ruin it, wouldn't you say? I'm doing the part I agreed to, but you're not."

Harry starts to see the manipulator in the man in front of him. His choice of words, his emotionless tone, the way he sized someone up like a predator does its prey... it made Harry lean forward a little, like he was afraid he'd miss something, like he was watching a movie with great detail. 

"Are you okay with us leaving you here with him?" The governor asks Harry, who is snapped out of his strangely infatuated state to Louis, and who wants to say no, who wants to rather interview someone else. But when he sees Louis look at him out of the corner of his eye, he knows that it's a test, that Louis is trying to make him reveal his fear.

So, instead of speaking his truth, Harry nods. "I'll be fine," he says, and he doesn't know why he glances at Louis right after he says it, but he does and he can see a twitch in the corner of the man's pink, thin lips.

"Okay," the governor says, and she clicks her fingers so that the guards open the door and leave, the counsellor following. "Guards will be right outside the door. Remember what I told you, Mr Styles."

And then she's gone, and the door falls close, a small echo in the almost empty room that now only has Harry and Louis in it, with a few softboxes, dish reflectors and a single camera.

Harry looks at Louis again, and his expression is different. His lips are a little upturned, like the smallest of smirks, and his eyes are no longer empty of emotion but intrigued, like Harry was a fascinating artwork for his eyes to feast on. 

"Um," Harry says, his eyes falling on the paper in his hands where all the questions were on. The same questions he asked the other interviewees. "So, try to answer as much as you can so that we can create as much of a complete picture as we can for this."

Louis doesn't nod or show that he understands anything. "Where would you have me look?" he asks, and he sounds almost sly. "You or into the lens?"

"Um," Harry says again. He needs a moment to think about the question, but it's not because it surprises him, but because he's captivated by Louis' intense stare. "Whatever you prefer. If you look at the lens it's more, um, inducing, I guess, for the audience."

"You think people are going to watch this?" Louis asks, and even though the question is patronising, the tone it's used with is not like that at all: it's curiosity, almost child-like curiosity. "How many do you think?"

"Depends," Harry says. "On publicity and interest from the public."

It dawns on him that this isn't an interview anymore, it's a conversation. The thing that they warned Harry about not to have with Louis Tomlinson. Just do the interview and get it done with.

"Alright, so," he says, quickly moving on before Louis can ask more. "Could you state your name, your age and how long you've been in imprisonment and what you were convicted for?"

Louis' mouth twitches again, but when he answers it's back to his almost amused expression. "My name is Louis Tomlinson, I'm 29 years old," he says, and his eyes move to the camera, which he looks straight into. "I was convicted of first-degree murder, and I have been in prison for nine years."

The first man was convicted of capital murder and had been doing 26 years so far. The second one had been second-degree murder and had been locked up for 19 years. The third man had murdered someone inside and outside the prison and had been locked up for 34 years.

Louis was the shortest of the sentences, yet Harry found him the scariest and the most experienced in prison. He didn't even know Louis, yet he was thinking all these things.

"Can you--"

"What about you?" Louis says, his mouth now a small smile, but not the smile that made you feel comfortable. It was almost like the devil was smiling at you as he tried to convince you to sell your soul. "What's your name? How old are you?"

"Harry Styles," Harry answers before he can stop himself. He doesn't know why he does, why he replies to Louis as quickly and easily as he does. "I'm 24."

"You look like you're younger than 24," Louis says, and Harry doesn't know why he likes that Louis gives him such a small compliment. "That's very good of you. You must live a healthy life, to look so young still, don't you Harry?"

Harry nearly says 'yes', nearly falls into that trap again, but he bites his lip and looks away. "We're not here to talk about me," he says, and tries to be discreet when he lets out a nervous breath, but he knows that Louis heard it as soon as it escapes. "So, can you tell us about the crime that got you convicted?"

"Us? It's only you, Harry," Louis says. Harry feels a strong feeling every time Louis says his name, and he can't place it exactly, but it almost feels like arousal, and it's terrifying. "Just say 'me'. It's just you and me in this room."

The last part sends a spark of desire through Harry's body, and he shuffles a little in his seat, refusing to acknowledge it. 

"Okay, um, can you--can you tell me about the crime that got you convicted?" he asks, clearing his throat. When he looks up his eyes immediately lock with Louis', and he can't look away. 

"Of course," Louis says, his hands separating and intertwining again, and Harry doesn't know why his throat is suddenly so dry. "I killed a girl who couldn't take a hint, and a guy who didn't know how to respect me."

He doesn't continue, so Harry continues his questioning without realising that Louis is doing it on purpose: it's how he lures Harry in, how he gets him intrigued. "Do you remember their names?"

"Eleanor Calder and Caleb Barnes," Louis says, something akin to a memory flashing in his eyes.

Harry swallows thickly because he doesn't see remorse in the piercing blue digging into his gaze. "Can you tell me what you did? And why? In detail?"

"Anything for you, Harry," Louis says, and Harry nearly runs out of the room when that same spark runs through his body, his upper body leaning forward just a little. "I first met Eleanor on a friend's birthday. I thought her to be boring, no finesse and charm. She was pretty, but not what I wanted. Not like you, Harry."

Harry nearly swears out loud in _he-doesn't-even-know-what_ , but he stays quiet and allows Louis to continue.

"She was so strangely obsessed with me," he says. "Always on my arm. And I told her no a couple of times, yet she kept acting so clingy."

"She couldn't take a hint," Harry says, and immediately regrets it. He doesn't understand why his brain makes him reply, why his own brain is trying to get him to be active in a conversation that shouldn't be a conversation.

"Exactly. You and I understand each other, don't we, Harry?" Louis says with a small, devilish smile. And Harry finds himself thinking that yes, yes, they do understand each other.

But he quickly pulls himself away from those thoughts because he doesn't understand Louis, they're not the same, Louis is a killer, he killed two people, and Harry is a documentary maker. No, they don't--they _can't_ understand each other.

"So, she was clingy, and I didn't want that. So rude, that girl," Louis continues, his thumb drawing small circles over his own hand which makes Harry stare. "Truly. We were in the kitchen, and I started yelling at her, kind of lost my temper a little bit. We got into a vocal altercation. And then this other man joined in, told me to leave her alone: that was Caleb."

He shakes his head to himself like he's remembering a funny joke instead of a killing by his own hands.

"I was oh so angry, and I'm a little bit embarrassed about that, but he accused of me hurting Eleanor when I clearly hadn't. So I grabbed a knife when he started threatening me, and I warned him, I did," he says. "But he wouldn't listen. So when he touched me I stabbed him, right here."

He points to the middle of the chest while keeping direct eye contact with a rigid Harry.

"And again and again, all in the chest, until he finally went down. And then the girl, she was screaming," he says, and tsk's, like it was childish of her. "Wouldn't be quiet. So I made her quiet. It's all a little bit of a blur, it just went quite fast. I got a little scared, so I ran. But, as you and I both know, I got caught."

Harry just stares, and is a little scared, especially when he still finds himself intrigued.

"They were just so rude, but you get that, don't you, Harry? They were oh so rude," Louis continues, and Harry doesn't even realise he's nodding. "Maybe taking their lives was a little extreme, yes, but there's nothing I can about it now."

"How did it feel?" Harry asks, even though it isn't on his paper. The question just... leaves his mouth. He hadn't even known it was in his mind, yet there it was, now out in the open. 

And Louis' smirk reveals that he knows that he has Harry exactly where he wants him. "In one word, I'd say... powerful. Because at that moment, you decide whether they live or die," he says, and Harry finds himself leaning a bit closer. "I had the choice to let them live, and I chose not to. I chose to stab them and to watch the life leave their eyes, and it made me feel powerful. Have you ever felt powerful, Harry?"

Harry shakes his head and hardly registers himself doing it.

"It feels amazing; like no one can do anything to you," Louis says, leaning forward a little. "Like you have the whole world at your feet. Everyone looks up to you, listens to everything you do, every single word that leaves your lips."

There's that jolt again, only this time it's when Louis says the word 'lips'. It's a strong feeling, so much so that Harry has the desire to just turn the camera off and listen to Louis talk and talk and talk.

And it hits him again, hard, that Louis is luring him in, that he's getting inside Harry's head, which was the one thing Harry was warned about.

He abruptly leans back in his chair and clears his throat, averting his gaze to the paper in his trembling hands. The effect Louis has on him is astronomical and deeply concerning.

"Um, so, um, can you--" Harry is stammering, and Louis interrupts him again.

"Breathe for me, Harry, we're only talking," he says in a comforting voice--at least, Harry thinks it's comforting, but he's not really sure anymore. "Are you afraid?"

"I... no, I don't think I am," Harry replies, and they're back in a conversation.

"That's good. You know I wouldn't hurt you, right, Harry?" Louis asks, and for some reason, Harry believes him. For some reason, he believes that Louis wouldn't; like he's special to Louis.

"I know."

Louis sends him a smile, which to Harry, seems sincere, but something in him tells him that it's not. "Good boy, Harry," he says, and Harry shivers a little at his words: not in disgust, but in arousal. "Very good."

There's suddenly a rap on the door which opens a second later, and the governor walks back in. "I'm sorry, Mr Styles, but the hour for today is up," she says, and Harry can hardly believe that it had been an hour. 

When he looks at Louis, the inmate has that emotionless mask back on, like the things that had happened during the interview hadn't happened, that he hadn't been luring Harry in.

"You can continue tomorrow," she continues, and two guards come in to escort Louis back to his cell.

Louis stands up by himself and slowly starts walking out of the room. Harry nearly jumps up and yells out 'no', and that scares him, that he actually wants to stay around Louis.

"Goodbye, Harry," Louis says as he walks. "We'll see each other tomorrow."

Harry doesn't reply and just watches him go.

"How did it go, Mr Styles?" The governor asks with raised eyebrows. "He didn't do anything, did he? Try to get in your head, like we said?"

Harry shakes his head but doesn't understand why he's lying for Louis. "No, just asked the questions, like you said," he said. "About halfway done."

He glances at the empty chair in front of the still rolling camera.

"Nothing happened."

༻˃̶༒˂̶༺

That same night, so late that Harry's eyes were burning, he found himself in front of his laptop, his red, dry eyes glued to the screen. He was editing the footage of that day, of his interview with Louis, but he had stopped editing hours ago and was just replaying parts over and over again.

When Louis sat down in the chair and looked straight into the lens, it sent shivers down Harry's spine. His eyes were such a strikingly intense blue, so deeply captivating that it frightened Harry; yet he couldn't get himself to click away, to continue editing.

While Louis talked, he would often glance straight into the camera, which Harry hadn't noticed during the interview itself. It took him a while, but eventually, Harry realised that Louis had been doing it on purpose, because now, it felt like Harry was still there with him. There, under his intense gaze and his electrifying voice that still sounded so good to Harry, even through the speakers in the laptop. 

" _She was pretty, but not what I wanted. Not like you, Harry._ "

God, it shouldn't have the effect that it actually had on Harry. He shouldn't feel arousal flooding his body, he shouldn't feel the desire to hear Louis compliment him more and definitely shouldn't have such a strong infatuation with a convicted killer.

Yet he did.

_"You know I wouldn't hurt you, right, Harry?"_

Yes, Harry knows that. Louis wouldn't hurt Harry, he wouldn't. Harry doesn't understand why, but he knows that Louis wouldn't hurt him.

_"Good boy, Harry."_

That's the part he keeps replaying, over and over again. It just... it sounds so good, so right, so arousing. And the smile on Louis' face, God, it's electrifying, it makes Harry long for something so strong.

With a tinge of guilt, he adjusts himself in his joggers, and a moan escapes at the feeling the pressure gives him.

It scares him a little, to have such a strong physical response to Louis, a _murderer_ , but at the same time, he likes it a lot, and he wants more.

He replays it, " _Good boy, Harry_ ," and palms himself at the same time, and it's so strong, feels so good. It makes him moan, and even though he knows it's wrong and that he should stop, he keeps going, keeps touching himself and keeps replaying Louis' voice complimenting him.

When he comes it's powerful and explosive, and it's easily the best orgasm from wanking he's ever had. He rides out the high afterwards for a long time, and all he can think is _Louis Louis Louis_ , an infinite loop that has him spiralling into something dark, something strong. He just, he wants Louis now, really badly. He can't wait to see him again.

But when he starts coming down again, he realises what he's just done and slams his laptop shut, jumping into the shower afterwards and scrubbing his skin until it's raw. He hates himself for letting it happen, for letting it come so far.

They warned Harry, warned him not to let Louis into his head and to allow this to happen.

_He'll talk, make you interested in a way you didn't know interest existed, and suddenly, you'll find yourself in the palm of his hand. You'll find yourself infatuated with him._

He refused to let it sink in as he went to bed, refused to let the realisation that he was stuck in Louis' palm sink in. He hated himself, he should've never let it happen. He should've known better. Tomorrow, he was going to do the rest of the interview, edit it and put it in his documentary and never think about him again.

It was going to be that simple. He was not in Louis' hand, he was capable of making his own decisions and had rational thoughts.

Although... was it really going to be that easy?

༻˃̶༒˂̶༺

The next morning, Harry is exhausted from his lack of sleep, but still manages to get to the prison on the agreed time. His equipment is still there, like it had been the last two weeks, only this time there’s a table, so that it’s easier for Harry to show the audience that it’s a new day. He and Louis were going to be in front of each other, the only thing between them a camera, the tripod on the floor between the table and Harry’s chair.

He knows the next hour is going to be emotionally draining. He’s going to need to stay out of Louis’ traps again, which was difficult enough already yesterday when he had been completely coherent, but today he was so, so tired and he knew it was going to be a battle because of that.

Yet, when the door opens and Louis is escorted into the room by two guards, Harry finds his heart skip a beat and something like excitement floods through him, and he actually smiles at Louis, who returns it with his own, much smaller version.

Neither of them speaks until the guards have left the room and the door closes again.

”Hello, Harry.”

God, that voice, and the way he says Harry’s name... it’s so intoxicating. Harry is fucked, he knows it already. But he's not so sure if he minds anymore.

”Hi, Louis,” he says, and actually feels a bit shy and giggly, like he’s talking to his crush instead of a convicted murderer. “Are you ready to do the second part of your interview?”

”Why don’t we chat for a little bit first?” Louis suggests, and Harry is just too tired to say no; at least, he thinks that's the reason why he agrees. “I like talking to you, we don’t have to turn it into an interview already, do we?”

”I... I suppose not,” Harry says, and he feels happy when Louis smiles approvingly. 

“How are you, Harry? Are you okay?” He asks, leaning forward on his forearms. “You look a bit tired, did you sleep well last night?”

“No, I had trouble falling asleep,” Harry admits, and he doesn’t know why he’s so honest. A sudden strong surge of concern washes over him about Louis, so he leans forwards in his seat. “Are you okay? You’re the one who is in this terrible place.”

Louis smiles, like he’s a little proud of Harry, who feels that same happiness at the knowledge that Louis is proud of him. He wants Louis to feel that all the time, he wants Louis to always be proud of him. God, he can’t imagine letting Louis down, the disappointment on Louis’ face would probably shatter his heart.

Wait, what the hell is he saying? Why would he care?

”I’m okay, Harry, although you are right, this place is truly terrible,” Louis says, and Harry finds himself concerned again.

”When are you getting out?” He asks, almost at the point of upset. “I mean, you can’t stay in here forever, that can’t happen.”

Louis glances at the lens of the camera before he looks at Harry. “No, it can’t,” he says. “Do you really not want that, for me to be in here?”

”No, it’s not—it’s not right.”

But _fuck_ , it is right. Louis is a killer, he should be in prison, that’s how it should be. Why is Harry so obsessive about wanting to get Louis out all of a sudden?

”How about you ask me some questions from your interview, darling?” Louis asks him, and it’s a sudden change because Harry thought they were still chatting.

He nods obediently and looks at the paper in his hands. “Can you tell me about your parents?” He asks, and then quickly adds, for some reason, “Only if you want to.”

Louis smiles, again like he’s proud. “I never knew my father,” he says. “But I knew from my mother that he’s not a good man. My mother, she was very loving, always taught me to be kind to stangers.” He shakes his head a little. “Yeah, she was kind and loving, but mostly to her heroin. Completely addicted. Made her agressive towards me and my sisters.”

”I’m sorry,” Harry immediately says.

”It’s okay, darling,” Louis says, and Harry preens at the pet name. “You like that name, Harry?”

Harry nods. “Yes,” he says softly. “I like ‘darling’.”

”That’s good,” Louis says, as though he has to reassure Harry that it is. “You know, Harry, I think you and I get along quite well, wouln’t you say so?”

Harry nods again, a lot more vigorously this time. He’s given up on trying to stay out of Louis’ grasp and lets himself get sucked into the darkest parts of his own head, feels himself spiralling away.

”Tell me, darling, have you thought about me?” Louis asks, and Harry's mind rushes back to last night because he had _definitely_ been thinking about Louis then. “When you went home, was I in your mind?”

”Yes,” Harry whispers, the arousal spiking his mind as he shuffles to the edge of his seat. “Is that wrong?”

”No, not at all. It’s good, Harry.”

Harry looks at the still rolling camera and then makes the decision to turn it off. He grabs the tripod and puts it to the side so that he can pull himself to the table, his chair scraping over the polymer floor.

A satisfied smile comes over Louis’ face, and Harry feels himself drawn to him, leaning over the table as much as he can without having to get up from his seat.

”Good job, darling,” Louis says, and Harry feels that spark again. “You’re doing so good.”

”Really?” Harry asks, desperate for more compliments.

Louis nods with a sweet smile as he reaches his cuffed hands out and places them on Harry’s hand. Harry feels heat flow from his hand through the rest of his body. “Yes, Harry. You’re doing very good.”

Harry bites his lip and nods, staring into the beautiful blue eyes that are looking at him.

”I’m happy I met you, Louis,” he admits, and no longer feels fear at his own confessions. It’s like he’s accepted his new, sudden and deep infatuation with Louis. He wants to get closer, wants everything Louis can give him, but also wants to give Louis everything himself.

”I’m very happy I met you too, Harry,” Louis says, his thumb stroking over Harry’s hand and making Harry feel like he’s on fire. “I think fate brought us together, don’t you think so?”

Harry nods vigorously. “Yes, yes,” he says, and he’s leaned so close that he can feel Louis’ breath on his face. He suddenly remembers he’s in a prison. “Are there cameras in here? That can see us?”

”No, it’s just in this room, darling,” Louis says, and Harry is right back in that state of mind, where he’s filled with desire for the man in front of him, filled with a type of obsession. “Everything we do will just be between us.”

God, Harry wants to laugh and cry all at the same time. There’s only room for Louis in his head.

He thinks he might be in love, even though it’s only been a day since he met Louis. It has to be love, what else can the despairlingly strong feeling in his body be?

”Louis? I think I might like you,” he says and doesn’t care for the effects. He just wants to give Louis all of him, make him proud and show him he’s worth Louis’ time an attention. “Is that bad?”

”No, Harry. I think I might like you too,” Louis says, one hand going up to Harry’s cheek and stroking it gently. The handcuffs allow for him to part his hands just far enough to keep one on Harry's hand and the other on his cheek. Harry leans into the touch and closes his eyes, basking in the attention and the heat it brings. “Harry, would you let me kiss you?”

”Yes, yes please,” Harry says desperately, and Louis shushes him gently.

”Easy, baby, easy,” he says, and God, ‘baby’ just wakes up so much inside of Harry.

Louis leans in and doesn’t hesitate to lightly press his lips to Harry’s. Harry immediately whines at the feeling. It’s overwhelming and intense, fire flooding his system. Something clicks in Harry’s mind, and all of a sudden everything makes sense. It’s Louis, Louis is everything now, and Harry needs him now, forever. It feels like the strongest drug Harry has ever felt, a deep pleasure and lust spiking his blood, fire in every single fibre of his being.

When Louis pulls back he almost whines again, but he doesn’t want to seem too needy in front of his new everything, so he sucks it up and watches him.

”So good, Harry, so beautiful,” he says, still stroking Harry’s cheek. “Can’t believe you have to leave me again soon.”

And no, no, that can’t happen, it can’t, Harry can’t leave Louis anymore.

”No, no, Louis, no, I can’t leave you, we can’t be apart,” he rushes out, and Louis shushes him again.

”It’s okay, baby, it’s okay.”

”No, it’s not! We have... we have to,” Harry stammers, and his eyes widen with his new idea. “We have to break you out of here.”

Louis sends him a proud and pleased smile, making Harry preen again. “Good boy, Harry,” he says, and he's suddenly talking slow, as though there's a meaning behind every single one of his words. “Will you help me get out of here?”

Harry nods hastily. “I’ll do anything for you.”

”I know, darling, I know,” he says. He glances at the door behind them. “Listen very closely, can you do that for me?”

Harry nods again. He can do anything, all Louis needs to do is ask him to.

”If I give you an address, could you go there for me? My boys are there, waiting for a sign like this one,” Louis says, and strong jealousy flares up in Harry, which Louis immediately picks up on. “Not like that, baby. You’re my boy, but they are too, just not in the same way. You’re the only one for me, remember?”

Harry believes him without a moment of hesitation; he doesn't see why Louis would lie to him. “Yes,” he says, and Louis’ smile returns.

“Good. Now, once you get to the address, just tell them I sent you, okay?” He asks, and Harry nods. “Good boy.”

Harry beams, happy that he can make Louis happy. “Can you kiss me again?” He asks, almost shyly, and Louis does as he says. The effect is the still the same: mind-numbingly strong.

Louis gives him a grin as he pulls back, and it’s the first time Harry has seen him with a grin, but he decides that Louis is still beautiful, if not more so. “Oh, and one more thing.”

Harry watches him expectantly, his eyes wide as he waits for Louis’ request.

”Bring me a machine gun.”


End file.
